


my heart is with yours in another life

by AsunaChinaDoll



Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Awkward Mando, F/M, Fluff, Forehead Touching, Gen, Mandomera, Mutual Pining, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing, being soft around your crush, they're adorable and i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsunaChinaDoll/pseuds/AsunaChinaDoll
Summary: “Do you know how to dance?”He shrugs, firelight glinting off beskar. He replies, “I understand the basic mechanics.”She laughs lightly, half air and half sound.“Well, that’s a start.”
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Series: honey and wildfire are the same color [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569829
Comments: 42
Kudos: 163





	my heart is with yours in another life

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I was working on the third installment of [honey and wildfire are the same color](http://archiveofourown.org/series/1569829) but then this little one shot possessed me until it was finished. Anyway, I'm the biggest sucker for Mandomera and finally wrote something for them. Hope you enjoy reading! <333

She always finds him.

Not that he’s ever trying to hide, especially in a full cuirass of armor, but she finds it a strange happenstance to be able to pick a direction and see him at the end. She blames it on her good intuition.

This time, she finds him resting back against the barn’s outer wall, wrists and ankles crossed, away from the crowd while still able to keep a watchful eye on his boy. She saunters to his side, the night air cool against her skin and a welcome respite from the day’s heat. She greets him with a smile. His helmet dips slightly, a nod to acknowledge her. She imagines he smiled back.

She relaxes beside him, not close enough for their elbows to brush, but enough to feel that warm presence. 

“I placed your dinner on the table inside,” she says.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian responds, sounding grateful.

“You’re welcome.” She slips her hands into the pockets of her frock. “I can watch him for a bit, if you’d like to eat. I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay for now.”

She nods, turning her head to face the gathering. “Alright then.”

The conversation lulls into a comfortable quiet, the life of the forest and the far off sounds of instruments being played acting as pleasant white noise. They take comfort in each other’s presence as they watch the others prance around the fire, arms laced and laughter spilling from their lips. A small crowd is gathered around Cara as she tells an engaging story, a bottle of spotchka in her hand.

Tonight, they celebrate the downfall of the raiders and their mechanical beast. They had started with a large feast in the dining hall, before moving to accompany the crickets beneath the stars. A bonfire was lit, someone had pulled out their guitar, and it wasn’t long before people were dragged to the dance floor.

It has been a long time since Omera had seen the villagers so carefree. The aura of it all strongly permeates the air, the infectious mood feeling like a warm stone in the pit of her stomach. Even the Mandalorian is relaxed.

Naturally, her eyes find Winta, the other children crowded around her as they play with the Mandalorian’s boy. He waddles forward, laughing as he chases a cricket across the dirt. Winta tries to help as the children follow. Omera exhales, smiling fondly at her beautiful daughter, the knowledge that she is safe again making her shoulders light.

“The kids look like they’re having fun,” Omera comments.

The Mandalorian nods. “They do.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen your boy so happy.”

He goes quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sure he will sleep well tonight,” he says. Omera smiles.

“You do realize this is all possible because of you,” she adds, framing it more as a statement rather than a question. She turns to face him, meeting his visor. He shakes his head.

“Everyone worked hard,” he responds simply. “You all deserve this. I’m glad I was able to help.”

She gazes into his visor, her eyes only able to approximate where his are beneath the helmet. 

“Thank you,” she says, the words softened with sincerity. She does not miss the way the Mandalorian pauses as if caught off guard, his body tense with hesitancy. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, his voice rough.  
  


He was doing it again.

She didn’t know when she started taking note of it. She just found it interesting, the way he looked at her. Despite the barrier of steely beskar, practically from the moment they met, she could feel his eyes gazing into hers, solid and grounding and dignified. Like she was the realest person on the planet. 

She could only name one other person who looked at her like that. 

She hasn’t decided how she felt about it regarding the Mandalorian. 

She lowers her chin slightly, before looking back to the crowd. She feels warm.

Her eyes catch sight of Winta, now dancing with the child balanced on her hip. The child squeals in delight as Winta spins on her heel. 

“Do you know how to dance?” Omera blurts, curiosity lilting her tone. She does not turn to look at him, continuing to face ahead, though she steals a cursory glance out of the corner of her eye.

He shrugs, firelight glinting off beskar. He replies, “I understand the basic mechanics.”

She laughs lightly, half air and half sound. She is not aware of the effect it causes, and the Mandalorian shifts ever so slightly to ease the flutter in his stomach.

“Well, that’s a start,” she says, a gentle smile gracing her features. “Maybe sometime—”

“Mama!”

Omera snaps her attention to Winta, bounding over to her with the child in tow. 

“What is it, baby?” Omera asks, trying to determine if something is wrong. Winta’s flash of teeth as she grins lessens her concern. She gently places the child down on the dirt before hopping to her mother’s side.

“Come on, Mama!” Winta implores, her eyes alight with that familiar, boundless energy. She loops her arm with Omera’s, tugging forward, and Omera catches herself before she stumbles.

“I asked them to play your favorite song,” Winta says hurriedly, pulling at Omera, and she can’t help but laugh at her daughter’s insistence. “Dance with me!”

Omera, through laughs, replies, “Okay, okay, slow down, I’m coming.”

She glances back to the Mandalorian, seeing his boy cradled in his arms. She swears she can see his amused smirk through the helmet. She smiles at him, amused as well but not quite apologetic.

“Kids,” she says with fond exasperation. He nods, exhaling through his nose.

“Kids.”

Turning back to make sure she doesn’t trip over anything, she lets Winta drag her towards the dance floor.

Once Omera is gone, the Mandalorian sighs. His heart had gradually made itself known the longer they spoke, thudding loudly in his ribcage and making his limbs feel warm and detached simultaneously. 

It was the second time in a rather short window that the Mandalorian cannot explain these nameless feelings swirling in him. _What is happening to me_ , he thinks. He chooses not to dwell on it much further.

With the spot beside him growing cold once again, his heart finally seems to be slowing. He pushes off the wall, looking down at the child.

“Ready for bed, kid?” He asks. The child coos, snuggling against his chestplate, eyes already slipping shut. 

“Sounds like a good idea.”

* * *

“Knock, knock,” Omera calls gently outside the curtain. She glances down to the blanket folded over her arm and caresses her hand over it.

“Come in,” he says. 

She parts the curtain and slips inside. The Mandalorian is kneeled over the baby crib. He drags a finger over the sleeping child’s ear before he stands, turning to face her.

“I won’t stay long,” she starts, speaking in a hushed tone. “I just wanted to give you something.”

She steps forward, slipping her arm out from beneath the blue linen blanket and holding it out to him. He stares at it before taking it from Omera, his hands gentle as if it were glass.

“I made this blanket, a long time ago. It used to be Winta’s baby blanket,” Omera says, smiling softly at the memories flooding her. How small her baby used to be.

At that, the Mandalorian looks at her, surprised and suddenly uncertain. He murmurs, rather resolute, “I can’t take this from you.” 

He starts to pass the blanket back, and Omera places her hand on his forearm, making him pause. She raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re not taking it from me,” she corrects. “I want you to have it. For your boy.”

They hold each other’s gazes. Unrelenting, Omera lifts her chin. Seconds pass, and the Mandalorian seems determined too.

“Please take it,” Omera exhales, softening. “Winta doesn’t need it anymore, and I know it’s going to someone who needs it.”  
  


A moment passes before the Mandalorian finally nods in acceptance. 

“Alright.” 

He takes the blanket and carefully folds it over the end of his cot. He runs a gloved hand over the material, taking note of the beautiful stitchwork, and it is only reasonable that it was sewn by the nimble hands of a loving mother. He turns to face Omera again. She is smiling.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice thick. He realizes that is all he ever says to her.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Then, joking, “Didn’t the Fighting Corps ever teach you how to accept a gift?”

He does not outright laugh, but she can tell he is at least mildly humored, smirking.

“I think I may have missed that lesson,” he jokes back. Omera breathes a chuckle.

A quiet moment passes. She thinks about departing.

Instead, she asks, “Do you have everything ready?” 

She already knows the answer.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she replies. “Caben and Stoke said they would help load the carriage in the morning.”

“That would be kind of them.”

They gaze at one another, and it takes Omera a moment to realize that he is doing it again. Seeing her, not looking through her like she is transparent, but rather an affixed being in the universe, a beacon in this plane of existence. 

She feels warm, and is suddenly hyper aware of her heart beat, pounding like a steady drum against her sternum. She swallows and nods to herself, moving back to the curtain. 

“I should go—”

“Omera?” 

Her heart skips a beat at the way he says her name, like soft water gliding over stone. She blinks, her hands bunching the sides of her frock.

“Yes?”

The Mandalorian grows quiet, seeming to gather his thoughts. His hands twitch nervously at his sides. Omera does not think she has seen him so uncertain.

“Do you… know how to dance?” 

His words come out stilted and gangly, but the question prompts her memory. A ball of warmth sprouts in her chest, completely endeared by him. She smiles, flashing ivory teeth.

“I understand the basic mechanics,” she replies. He exhales.

“That’s a start,” he murmurs. 

Then, he offers his hand. 

* * *

  
  


Omera glances between his gloved hand and his visor. He ignores the static in his ears.

She slips her hand with his and they close the distance between them. 

Everything within him jumps with her body so close to his, and he desperately wills his heart to calm. Slowly, like how he has seen others, he places his free hand gently against her back. Her long, black hair tickles at his wrist. She smiles at him, her eyes shining, and he can’t help but think how beautiful she is. Her other hand moves to cup the back of his neck. He has to remind himself to breathe. 

Stiff and awkward and so very out of his depth, he starts swaying from side to side, his feet barely lifting off the ground. She follows his lead. 

His eyes flit over her face, soaking in every detail, committing it to memory. _She’s so beautiful_ , is all he can think.

They do not break eye contact. They do not speak. 

They live and they sway and they breathe in each other’s scent. They revel in each other’s warmth, their solid presence. They think about a different life, far out of reach but no less beautiful.

He does not know how much time has passed. Gradually, he had slowed, until they were just two people, holding each other.

“Can I ask you something?” She whispers, her voice rippling the air between them. He nods.

“Would you have said yes? In another life?”

He pauses. He thinks back to gentle hands against his helmet, how the whole world had slowed, and amidst the snow-balling chaos, he had been at peace with her beside him.

“In another life,” he mutters.

She pulls him close, and he lets her. She presses a kiss to the side of his helmet, where the beskar dips, and he inhales. He imagines the feel of her lips against his cheek. She lingers for a fleeting second before pulling away. 

“You should get some rest,” she murmurs, smiling gently.

He feels her start to move out of his hold, but he can’t bring himself to let her go just yet. 

“Wait,” he blurts, tightening his grip around her waist. “Please.”

She stills. He retracts his hands and gingerly removes his gloves. He sets them aside, her eyes never leaving his visor.

Slowly, he brings his hands to her face, hovering above her skin before fully committing. His palms cup her jaw, calloused fingers resting upon the soft spot behind her ears, featherlight and so warm. Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. 

He closes his eyes and lowers his helmet till cool beskar rests against her forehead. He takes a deep breath. He savors the feeling of her in his hands, solid and sure and kind. One of her palms press against his knuckles. 

“ _Mirshmure’cya,_ ” he whispers gruffly. He lifts his helmet. “Head-butt.”

“A Mandalorian kiss,” she confirms as her eyes flutter open, smiling in that way that her whole visage lights up and softens like honey. 

“Yes.” He begins pulling his hands away, and she presses a hasty kiss to his palm. His blood spikes at the contact, the spot on his hand buzzing from her touch.

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing his hand before stepping back and breaking their circle of warmth. “For the dance.”

“Thank you, too,” he replies. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if you had said no.”

She smothers a laugh against her knuckles, biting her lip. 

“I would never have said no.”

She flashes him a smile before walking back to the curtain. She parts it, before looking over her shoulder. He is still watching her.

She tells him, “Ask me again someday.”

He does not hesitate. “Okay.”

She leaves. He takes a deep breath. 

His whole body is warm, an echo of hers. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel her against him.

The warmth does not leave him, even as he drifts to sleep.

He dreams of another life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by! Comments/kudos are most appreciated :))
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://asunachinadoll.tumblr.com/) for more Mando stuff because he owns my heart rn
> 
> Hope you have a lovely day/night ^^


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